


Skin Deep

by sylvanWhispers



Series: Thramsay Halloween [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, M/M, Modern Westeros, Ramsay is His Own Warning, Selkies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-05 11:56:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20488496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylvanWhispers/pseuds/sylvanWhispers
Summary: Theon is a selkie enjoying life in the city, waiting for the day his salt season hits and calls him back to the sea. His on-again-off-again boyfriend Ramsay has different ideas.





	Skin Deep

Theon had never considered himself a sheltered person. Sheltered meant naive. Unworldly. Soft. Theon Greyjoy may have been a lot of things, but he was not fucking _soft_, okay?

When he finally moved to Winter City and out from under the thumb of the Stark pack, he’d easily dismissed all their worries and concerns. Hell, he’d even proposed going as far as White Harbor before Robb’s look of pure dismay shut the idea down. It was endearing really, that after years of sitting on the sidelines and watching the _real_ pack run off into the Wolfswood, Theon was still valued. That he’d be missed.

The Bay of Ice was only a drive away in any case, if it came down to it.

So he left the Winterfell estate, where he’d been fostered since he was nine years old and taking his first steps on land, and set out on his own. He found a job at a decent bar just to tell himself that he wasn’t living off the Stark’s monthly allowance. From there things progressed smoothly enough. He liked the vibrancy of city life, the diversity of its people. The Stark's veritable compound of a property had revolved around its notions of security and responsibility, with only the same stony faces and monotonous dark nights.

Theon had grown up surrounded by wolves, far from the sea with his pelt locked somewhere in Ned Stark’s vault. A safety precaution, everyone said. As if his second skin were the keys to an expensive car he wasn’t yet ready to drive. He was only allowed to take his pelt to the pond every few months, just to make sure he didn’t outgrow it. He'd always insisted on doing it with as much privacy as possible, because contact with his pelt after such time apart tended to inspire bouts of embarrassing, overwhelmed tears.

But that was in the past. Theon’s pelt was his now, all his, in an apartment warded on a molecular level with the best security money could buy.

“Heads up, Theon.” Jeyne nudged him with a pointed look at the entrance as she collected a tray of drinks. “I heard he came by yesterday too when Virgil was working your shift.”

“Great. Thanks.” Even though he hadn’t needed the warning.

When Ramsay Bolton entered a room the air itself changed. As he crossed the threshold it was as if the distribution of weight within shifted, the atmosphere pulled by the man’s own gravity.It’s what had grabbed Theon’s attention so long ago: this heavy presence paired with ice-grey eyes that could strike a man down like lightning. Bolton had arrived with a group that first time, a typical-looking party of Northerners in practical coats and worn boots. In all the times afterward the man would come alone.

Theon stubbornly kept his attention on his work, even turning up the charm on the people he was currently helping. Ever since he’d gotten this job he’d been raking in tips with his smile and his eyes and the mild sheen to his skin. Coldwater merlings didn’t often go ashore, especially not so far inland, and people would pay good money to be flirted with by an ‘exotic’ bartender. Theon had to eat, after all. The icy gaze he could feel searing into him from somewhere beyond his periphery had nothing to do with it.

Eventually he had no choice but to face the storm. He turned to the source of the energetic displacement and was nearly bowled over by the force of his on-off (currently _off _thank you) boyfriend’s stare.

Ramsay was leaning against the bar in a faux casual stance, strong forearms firmly planted on its surface. He was broader and more muscular than Theon, though they might have been about matched in height, and he effortlessly claimed any space he was in. The other patrons had instinctively parted for him, melting away to give him a wide berth.

Theon cleared his throat and did his best to appear unaffected. “Looking for something?”

Ramsay looked him up and down at his leisure, like he had all the time and not a care in the world. “Some service wouldn’t go amiss. So far I’m finding the hospitality rather lacking.”

“Really? Haven’t had any complaints before.” Theon flashed the phone number a guest had scrawled on his receipt.

There it was - a twitch. Gone in a flash, but he’d hit a nerve. Good.

Ramsay easily recovered, as always. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“That’s not true.” It was true. “We’re broken up. It makes perfect sense that we don’t see each other anymore.”

“So changing your shifts and sending my things by mail are just what you do now?”

“You didn’t seem too eager to pick them up in person.”

“What’s the point?” Ramsay sneered. “They’ll be right back there again once you get over yourself.”

“Get over my-“ Theon bit his tongue with a glare. “Are you going to buy something or not?”

“You know what I like,” Ramsay said coldly.

Theon rolled his eyes and set to pouring a glass of dark wine. When he went to give it over he startled at a calloused hand suddenly wrapping over his.

“You’re being difficult,” Ramsay’s voice was deceptively soft. “You _know_ what happens when you’re difficult.”

Theon swallowed and the other man's eyes keenly followed the movement of his throat.

He had to stand firm this time. No way he was crawling back until he got a real, genuine fucking apology. It was always “I’ll make it up to you” with this guy. Never “I’m sorry”. Never “I made a mistake”. Well _fine_.

“You crossed a line,” Theon’s voice cracked. “I’m not the one being difficult here.”

* * *

The worst part was that everyone had warned him.

“That’s Ramsay Bolton,” Jeyne had whispered with a nod at the man’s table. “His family’s old magic.”

“Seriously?”

With a bit of affinity and effort most anyone could do magic, at least for little things - lighting candles, blessing houseplants, easing a headache… but witches were a different breed entirely. The very air a witch breathed became magic just for passing through their lungs. Theon had only met maybe two witches in his life, Luwin and Old Nan (although the latter was just a strong suspicion). Neither had maintained a presence like Bolton’s.

“They specialize in _blood magic_, Theon. Really dark stuff. There’s all sorts of rumors about what he and his coven get up to in the Dreadfort.” Jeyne shuddered. “Trust me, you need to be careful around him. He’s bad news.”

Bolton had been coming back like clockwork, always during Theon’s shifts. First just to sit and watch and leave a hefty tip, but eventually the pair of them had worked up to conversation and an exchanging of numbers.

It went without saying that Theon had ignored Jeyne's advice, but restraint wasn't his strong suit in the first place. Besides, being with Ramsay was fun. Exciting. Theon had never been very suited for relationships, especially since anything serious would have to be either cut short or swapped to long distance once his salt season arrived... but he had always wanted to be wanted, to be someone’s first priority rather than just an obligation or afterthought. Ramsay had looked at him like he wanted to eat him whole. He still did.

“_So what did he do this time?_”

Theon snorted into his pillow, adjusting his grip on his phone. “I’m sensing a distinct lack of sympathy, Stark.”

“_This is the third time you guys have broken up this year. I can’t help but be a little numb to the drama by this point. At least tell me it was bad enough to kick him for good._” A pause. “_He didn’t hurt you did he?_”

“I’m fine. He’s just too much sometimes, you know?”

“_I’m aware,_” Robb said flatly.

“And then it builds and builds until one or both of us fucking loses it.”

_“Why do I feel like you’re giving me the censored version of what happened?”_

Theon grimaced. ‘Because I don’t want you to tell me you told me so’ would have been the honest answer.

“It turned out he was… keeping tabs on me,” he said slowly. “Having me watched.”

_“He was _stalking_ you!?” _He could hear in Robb’s voice that the man was about to go feral. _“Theon that is completely unacceptable!”_

“I handled it, alright? He crossed my boundaries and I shut him down. I am capable of standing up for myself, you know.”

_“That’s not what I - I’m only worried about you. You get that right? You’re family. Practically in the pack.”_

Practically, but not truly. Theon was well aware of the distinction.

“Yeah. I appreciate it man.” Theon rubbed his eyes. “I should get going. Early morning tomorrow.”

_“Right, right. It’s just a visit though, you said. It’s not time yet?”_

“No, not yet.”

_“You need to tell me when it is. Please,”_ Robb pressed. _“Don’t disappear on me, Theon.”_

“I promise.”

Theon continued to lay in bed long after the call ended, staring at his ceiling as his fingers ran idly through the silken fur of his pelt. His mother had always warned him about Greenlanders, men especially, and how they longed to take and own and steal things that weren’t theirs to have. He’d grown up surrounded by cautionary tales about selkies who were snatched from the sea by men’s greed.

But Theon could handle himself.

He remembered with perfect clarity the first night he’d brought Ramsay home. They’d been seeing each other for a few weeks by that point. With the Bolton estate being so far out and Theon taught to never give strangers access to his greatest treasure, they’d only really gotten to messing around in clubs and cars.

He’d wanted more. Needed it. Every smile, every touch, every moment their eyes met would set something alight in his veins. The look of surprised delight Theon received when he gave the invitation to his apartment had wiped away all his reservations.

“Is this it?” Ramsay had asked, hand hovering over where the pelt was spread across the bed covers.

Waiting for permission. Something in Theon’s chest had swelled.

“Yeah. You can, if you want-“

He’d barely stifled a moan as those strong hands eagerly groped at his second skin, the phantom touch going straight to his soul. It was the first time he’d let a lover touch it. All his prior conquests had occurred with his pelt still locked in the Stark vault, and the instance where he let Robb hold it had been purely platonic.

Ramsay’s eyes had been so alive, shining bright as they drank in the silver sheen beneath his fingertips. He’d gone on to fuck Theon into his own furs long into the night, touching all of him at once, whispering filthy things into his ear and digging sharp teeth into his shoulder.

Theon hadn't meant for things to go on for as long as they had, to get so personal and, dare he say it, serious.  Once it started he just couldn't stop, couldn't put this _thing_ he'd awoken back in the box, and before he knew it they were texting every day with date nights every weekend and Ramsay had his own drawer in Theon's dresser.

Now Theon’s nights were empty. He sighed and held his pelt close, the chasm inside him yawning deeper and darker than ever.

* * *

He made the drive early the next morning, out of the city and onto the winding roads that carved through the Wolfswood. Cold mist clung to the earth, autumn leaves bright and golden all around. There _was_ beauty on land, even if it couldn’t compare to the sea. 

Theon emerged on the coast, Bear Island was just visible in the distance. A ferry was shuttling diligently over the dark waves but otherwise all was quiet. He stripped his clothes and shoes in the car, draping his pelt about his waist, and carefully picked his way down the cold shore to where water was lazily lapping at the dark sand.

The feeling of the seawater on his skin was euphoric, his pelt shifting and wrapping around his body as he waded deeper into the surf. The ocean welcomed him into its vast embrace, singing in his ears and in his veins, calling him further and further from the land. His outings to the Northern ponds could never compare to the ocean tide.

He arrived all too soon at the far-flung rock situated near the mouth of the bay. It was a struggle to pull himself atop it and a greater struggle still to force himself back into human form. His sealskin peeled from the pale flesh underneath and the sensation made him choke back a noise of longing. It couldn’t be much longer now. It just _couldn’t _be.

Theon lay himself down on the rough black stone, pelt draped over his naked body as he stared at the grey sky above. He counted the pulse of the sea in time with his heart until time ceased to have meaning.

He flinched hard when the water slapped his face, jolting upright.

“Jumpy as ever, I see.”

Yara was a merrow like their father and brothers. Her waist transitioned smoothly to gills, fins and the musculature of her tail. Her hands were webbed and tipped with vicious talons, her eyes as sharp as her teeth. She emanated a cruel, unapproachable kind of beauty.

Four siblings and he was the only one to take after their mother. Theon always felt a mixture of envy, shame and defensiveness over that.

“If I fell asleep waiting on you it’s hardly my fault.” Theon said, adjusting his pelt to cover himself more fully.

Yara snorted at the gesture. Merlings didn’t much care about nudity. That was a Greenlander thing.

“So,” she said, lying on her stomach with her chin propped her hand. “Ready to come home?”

Theon frowned before shaking his head. “Not yet.”

“Well what the bloody hell is taking so long? It’s been over fifteen years for fuck’s sake. You should’ve come into your salt season by now.”

“I know. It’s got to be soon.”

Theon had been a child at the time but he still remembered how it felt when his green season began: the heavy weight in his gut that had pulled him relentlessly for the land. His uncle Rodrik had offered to take him in, but his father had wanted Theon fostered outside the region entirely.

“You’ve been here too long as it is,” Yara said with a hiss. “I don’t like it. I don’t like what it does to you.”

“What’s it do to me?”

Yara scowled. “You’re a merling, Theon. You may walk their land and breath their air, but at the end of the day you belong to the sea. You belong with us.”

It was nice to hear even if it didn’t ring completely true. Theon _did_ belong to the sea, he knew it in the depths of his very being, but he’d never really belonged with his family. He’d wanted to, more than anything, but… well.

“There’s nothing I can do about it. It’ll happen when it happens.”

“Hmph.”

They talked for a time. She told him about home, about everything he’d missed and the clans she was visiting on business. It sounded like the same old politics as ever. Time moved differently for merlings, their lives shuttered away from and heedless of the world on land, and it all felt a bit monotonous in comparison. Maybe it would change when his salt season arrived - when the color of the surface world drained to his eyes and the sea commanded his return, would he finally find happiness in his family home?

Theon gave Yara the barebones of his life in the city. His job, his friends, how safe he was definitely being every time he brought someone to his apartment. He never really talked to her about the ups and downs with Ramsay, or how serious they might or might not have been. Partially because he didn’t know for himself (and like hell Bolton would tell him) and partially because she wouldn’t approve either way.

She knew there was a guy. A <strike>blood</strike> witch. She knew Theon had slept with him more than once. That was all she needed to know.

When they were done playing catch-up they went for a swim together, and being in the sea with her was leagues better than talking on land. They’d never been big talkers, but through the ocean they could communicate something deeper than words. It was the one thing, the greatest thing, that they shared between them.

When it was time for Yara to leave Theon saw her all the way to the tip of Sea Dragon Point, accepting her awkward pat of affection before watching her jet off into the deep. He stared after her silhouette long after it disappeared from view and imagined the day he would finally go with her. Struggled to picture the life that might be awaiting him out there.

He found himself drifting further out of the bay and into open sea, further out than he’d gone since coming to the North all those years ago. He could feel the welcoming lull of the deep, and couldn't help but feel both frustrated and relieved when it resonated in his bones that it still wasn’t time.

It was his last coherent thought before a sharp, blinding pain tore through his body.

The force of it knocked the air from his lungs in plumes of bubbles, saltwater flooding his senses. He felt as if he were being slowly crushed in a vice, his heart thudding with agonizing force within his chest. He thrashed weakly for the surface, struggled to right himself as the tide mercifully carried him back to the shore.

It hurt to shift. It hurt to breathe, to even exist, but the hurt subsided slightly as he carefully reverted to human form once more. He didn’t know how long it took for him to find his bearings, pain still rocking through him. Theon could feel his heartbeat throughout the whole of his body, each pulse bringing a new wave of it. It was persistent but bearable as he stumbled upright and began to make the slow walk up the coast. He was naked and it was well past noon, but fuck if he cared.

When he finally got to his car he damn near collapsed into it, pulling his clothes on with shaking hands. He’d barely wrestled his jeans on when his phone buzzed from the passenger’s seat with a new message.

_Can you drive or do you need me to collect you?_

Time froze. For a long moment Theon felt and thought nothing. There was literal silence in and around him as he stared at his phone's screen.

And then he saw only red.

“That _bastard_!”

He drove like a madman across the North, forests blending into townships blending into rivers and back into woodlands again. He’d been to the Dreadfort a handful of times before, though the place had always given him the creeps. Even in his current mental state he could find his way.

He distantly noticed that the closer he got to the Bolton estate, the more the pain in his chest began to ebb away. He grit his teeth and pressed harder on the acceleration.

* * *

Security let him through on sight, which was good because he would’ve charged the gate otherwise. As it was his car still left tracks in the drive as he swerved to a violent halt. Night had well and truly fallen and Theon could feel people watching him from all over the estate. He raged towards the main entrance like a storm, his eyes carrying the wrath of the sea, his skin shining iridescent in the moonlight.

Theon blew through the front doors and grabbed the first person he saw, fingers yanking at the shirt of one of Ramsay’s thugs.

“Where. Is. He.”

He got a raised eyebrow and wordless gesture towards the passage that led into the depths of the Dreadfort. Theon released him with a snarl and pushed past another brute who wasn't quick enough to move out of the way.

This was unforgivable. Worse than tracking Theon without permission, worse than flipping out when his crystal ball or magic mirror or whatever the fuck he used revealed the selkie spending a weekend at Robb’s place. He didn’t know exactly what Ramsay had done this time but it was definitely bullshit and the asshole needed to _fix it._

The bowels of the Dreadfort were some kind of labyrinth, marked by rows and rows of heavy locked doors. He finally found Ramsay in a dim but open room, the walls lined with mounted knives and shelves of jars.

“You motherfucker.” Theon slammed the door shut behind him. “What did you do?”

Ramsay was half-leaning, half sat upon a candlelit desk. He looked up from the blade he’d been toying with to scan Theon with sharp, assessing eyes.

“You really shouldn’t have driven yourself.”

“Don’t you dare. Not after the shit you’ve just pulled.” Theon snapped. “What the _fuck _did you _do?”_

“Me?” Ramsay dismounted the desk in a fluid motion, crossing the room in broad strides. “Let’s talk about what you did. Went for a swim did you? Thought you’d just head out into open fucking sea?”

“That- that is none of your fucking business!” Theon spluttered. “And so what if I did?”

Ramsay threw him back against the door, wood rattling with the force of it as he pinned Theon down with the length of his body.

“You don’t get to just up and leave me, Greyjoy. That’s not fucking allowed, understand?” There was something distinctly unhinged in Ramsay’s gaze as he grabbed Theon’s chin to force eye contact. “So what happened? Did you fucking break it, you sneaky cunt?”

“Did I… break it? Break what?” Theon looked at him in pure confusion before something horrible began to uncoil in his stomach. “Oh god.”

He tried to pull away, felt himself wilt and crumple against the heavy oak door.

“My sister was right. My salt season should’ve come by now.” Panic was beginning to seep into his voice, his breaths growing harsh and uneven. “What did you do to me!?”

Ramsay’s shoulders relaxed. “So you didn’t fuck with it. Good. I’d hate to have to clean up whatever mess you made.”

He steered Theon away from the door, pushing him so that he fell into a chair and rolled back against the opposite wall. Theon’s eyes fell upon the shelves, stocked with jars upon jars of thick fluid. Some contained dark shapes that looked very much like suspended organs.

“You like my collection? This one’s my favorite.” Ramsay held out a small crystalline bottle, one that had been given pride of place on the top shelf.

Red globules hovered and danced within like a lava lamp. There, penned lovingly on the label in black ink: _Theon._

He was going to be sick. He reached for the bottle only to have it pulled away and placed beyond his reach.

“I don’t- but my pelt-“

“Oh hush. I never needed your pelt, sweetling. Though I will have it, along with the rest of you.” Ramsay ran his fingers through Theon’s hair. “I’ve got something even better, don’t you see? Something that goes right to the heart of you.”

He pressed a kiss to Theon’s temple, his knife dancing just along the edge of the selkie’s throat.

“And if you ever try to use that skin of yours to run away, well…” The knife pressed down, just biting Theon’s pale flesh. “I’ll just fish you from the waters myself and _cut you out of it_ again.”

"The sea is my home!" Theon’s face was wet with tears of fear and betrayal. “How could you do this to me?”

“Because you’re _mine_,” Ramsay hissed, his grip on Theon’s hair tightening painfully. “Every drop, every piece. You should’ve known how this story would end.”

Theon had never seen himself as sheltered. Not naive, not soft, even if his family had clearly always thought so.He just didn’t know how dark the surface world could truly be.


End file.
